


Rest for the Broken Souls

by BrokenKestral



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dark, Despair, Gen, Hopeful Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25675144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenKestral/pseuds/BrokenKestral
Summary: There were many long, dark times in Narnia, when evil seemed unending and the dawn far off. But even there, there was rest for weary souls.
Kudos: 3





	Rest for the Broken Souls

_You will find rest for your souls._

The winter is unending. The cold bites every day. It sinks through my fur the same way my paws sink through the snow. Each sunrise breaks on a bleak world. Sunset should be welcome, hiding the bleakness from us, if only the dark things did not come out at night. But the night is given to the terror of growls and white teeth, roars and bloody axes. Night holds no safety. Day holds no hope. 

I have not seen my friends, my companions, my fellow sufferers, in months. To be seen with them is to risk their safety. Our only protection is anonymity, and to go to them is to strip that from them, to reveal them to the secret police. 

And the food will not grow. A hundred years, Narnia has survived, but there is no guarantee for the future. No promise that the food will last. If _her_ kingdom crumbles into starvation, the good will be the first to die, our ribs showing through our fur. 

The winter isn’t ending; the fear and the cruelty continue to grow. What is left for us to hold to, in this darkness? Words. Just words. The saying some call a flighty bird’s tale.

“Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight.  
At the sound of His roar, sorrows will be no more,  
When He bares his teeth, winter meets its death,  
And when He shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.”*

I do not know. Can the promise be trusted? Why has He waited so long?

I am weary, and all is dark. 

_You will find rest for your souls._

The King set the ragged Animal skin on the table. The Giants had caught one of the Narnians and sent their message of war written in its blood, on its fur, the misspelled words mocking Narnia. 

The fur crumpled and the King dropped his head in his hands. Another war. Another campaign, against creatures so much taller, stronger, and dumber than himself. More days of screams, metal, moving, chaos, _pain_. Death on both sides. 

Another war that _must_ be fought. For Narnia, for the Animals. Aslan, would this never end?

He reached for the sheathed and belted Rhindon, setting his face to go call the soldiers to war. The leather belt stayed smooth and strong beneath his fingers, the metal buckle cold as he slid the leather through it. He stayed a moment before the door, willing his spirit to strength. To magnificence. 

To more long days where he would fight a war without, and a war within. It is hard thing for a good man to go to war, and his soul was weary from the last one. 

_You will find rest for your souls._

I am old. In my youth I fought the Telmarines, not with sword, but with intelligence, with lurking and spying and once, oh that once, even saving. A nest of Badgers lay in the path of a group of soldiers, and I warned them, climbed into the trees with them, my short half-dwarf legs nearly useless. They saved me as much as I saved them, tugging my hands or legs onto limbs I was too scared to look down for. We saved each other, and I held the memory of that close, on days when we got news of yet other Narnians found and slaughtered. Or that horrible day when I saw it happen. 

I had thought that was the worst. The Centaur, solemn, strong, who set the Rabbits off his back and lifted the Squirrel to the tree, and turned to face the Telmarines that we might have time to escape. I took that gift, and I ran from the memory of deaths like his, hiding myself in the Telmarines instead of the half-kin who would accept me. I found some Telmarines kind, even their Queen. I thought, then, the worst was behind.

No. No, the kindly Queen died. The cruelest Telmarine crowned himself King. My old friend barely escaped with her life when she told the young Prince stories. And then the young Prince, a true King of Narnia, my hope in my old age, forced to flee from his own blood. The memory of the saved Badgers faded as I watched Destrier gallop away, and it did not return when I slipped out myself a few days later.

I am so old, so weary, headed to a road that may lead to death. Miraz is gathering his armies. He seeks my pupil and my kind, and would kill them both. I try not to think of it much as I toil across fields and into the forest. The thoughts come anyway. The hopeless ones. The _questions_.

Is my prince alive? Is there any way to win? What council can I give, if I find them alive?

When will the worst come, and the world finally begin to change?

When will I have answers, instead of questions that sear?

_You will find rest for your souls._

Narnia is no more. I am the King that failed, failed Aslan and failed Narnia, through no fault of my own. Still Narnians look to me for help and leadership; the Mice, the Squirrels, the Dogs, the Horses. Others turn away from me and will not heed my stern words. Dwarves, a Fox, a Cat. I saw them cursed of Aslan. They were my own, once; mine and His. Now they are not. 

All I loved crumbles around me, and there is naught left but this: I must stand fast for Aslan. Stand fast, stand firm, fighting before the mouth of the stable that has taken so many, that all will likely enter this night. It leads to watching my friends fall. The Boar went down. Eustace, ware! No, Aslan, he is fighting, _losing_. I cannot save him. Jill dragged to the stable by her hair. Aslan, all that we do, we lose!

Too late. Tis’ too late for Eustace. Too late for Jill. Too late for the good, silly Bear. Too late for myself and my friends.

Aslan, please give me a swift death, for I can stand to lose no more.

_Where is the rest for our souls?_

_Aslan, where is the rest for our souls? Our Father, Emperor-Over-the-Sea, where is the rest for our souls?_

Oh, my child. My dear one. 

My child who stands fast in the dark.

_You already know the ending to these tales. You know the coming of the Kings, the Queens, and the coming of the Lion._

_Listen to the end of these tales._

_And you will find rest for your souls._

“Aslan is on the move.”** 

_You will find rest for your souls._

The King found his brother waiting to go with him.

_You will find rest for your souls._

“Thus Aslan feasted the [Old] Narnians till long after the sunset had died away, and the stars had come out […] there was no breaking up or going away, but as the talk grew quieter and slower, one after another would begin to nod and finally drop off to sleep with feet toward the fire and good friends on either side, till at least there was silence all round the circle, and the chatter of water over stone at the Ford of Beruna could be heard once more. But all night Aslan and the Moon gazed upon each other with joyful and unblinking eyes.”***

_The old found peace, and all found rest._

The door to the Stable that the King had feared proved to hold something greater than all that had been lost. Greater than his whole world. And there he heard, “Well done, last of the Kings of Narnia who stood firm at the darkest hour.”****

_There he found rest for his soul._

_The days are dark, and we are weary. In this stumbling clouding of the light, I hope you know this: there is still rest for your soul. Wait and hope._

* * *

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." Matthew 11:28, 29

“What will it be like when tears are washed away,  
And every broken thing will finally be made whole?  
What will it be like when I come into Your glory  
Standing in the presence of a love so beautiful?  
I'm waiting my whole life for that day;  
I will live my life to hear You say,  
"Well done, well done  
My good and faithful one."  
\--The Afters

* * *

* _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe  
_ _** The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe  
_ _*** Prince Caspian  
_ _**** The Last Battle_

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I'm probably going to include this in the next few things I post, but as this is the first: trustingHim17 and I are putting together a month of writing prompts for Narnia, a writing challenge, to happen either in November or February. We've created a forum called Adventures in Narnia on fanfiction.net where you can stay updated and where we will post the prompts. If you'd like to participate, or just follow so you can see the results, we'd love it if you joined.


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